


When Harry Met Sammy

by lando_cal_rice_ian



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Other, who cares about the creepy ghost LISTEN there is a DOGE
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 05:56:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17238659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lando_cal_rice_ian/pseuds/lando_cal_rice_ian
Summary: sam and dean make two new friends: one, the pathologist from the morgue, and two, the dog sam has always wanted.





	When Harry Met Sammy

**Author's Note:**

> TUMBLR REQUEST: I was thinking about Sam and I imagine him and Dean questioning this girl with a dog that has been experiencing paranormal stuff and Dean is like “Hey Sam? Sam? SAMMY?!” And then he like turns round the corner and there’s Sam with this little Australian Shepherd, rubbing it behind ths ears like “Who’s a good doggy? Who’s a good doggy?!” […] - tinkerbelldetective
> 
>  
> 
> thank you for reading!xx

**UNEDITED**

* * *

It began with a legend. A town legend, one you hadn’t heard in _years_ , of the woman who consumed souls, garbed in black so dark it could be the deepest pits of Hell. Stories, that’s all she was, tales told to scare children into obedience, no more real than phantoms and vampires and other creatures of the night.

Monsters, surely, could not be real.

But they were. They _are_ real.

One after another, townspeople began to die, until the number of bodies at the morgue became suspicious, and the deaths too strange. As it got worse, they arrived. In their shiny Chevy Impala, dark grey suits, flashing their FBI badges. Hiding EMF metres in their suit jackets.

“Hi.” It was all you could manage when two FBI agents were standing on your porch. _Have they found out?_ you wondered. _Do they know about the pirated movies on my laptop?_

“Hi.” At the friendliness of their smiles a little of your nerves calmed. After the – awkward – introductions, during which you found out the agents weren’t there to arrest you, but to investigate the recent deaths, you invited them into your house.

“Sorry. I’m just a bit shaken up.” Hurriedly, you cleared the dog toys lying around in the living room away. “I’m guessing you know I work at the morgue. I just… still can’t get over how _weird_ these deaths are.”

“It’s fine,” said the tall one (though, both men were exceptionally tall), his voice so soothing that you found yourself relaxing. “We understand. We’ve seen the bodies and we can understand what you must be going through. You knew the victims.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I did.” Sighing, you glanced toward the kitchen. “Coffee?”

“Please, we wouldn’t want to be a bother.”

“Nope. No bother.” With a smile, you led them into the kitchen instead. As you retrieved three mugs from a cupboard, you turned back to find that just one FBI agent had followed you – the shorter, blond one. He sat down, smiling charmingly, leaning his elbows atop the kitchen island.

“So, the victims. There were no patterns to the killings. Or so the officers told us.”

“Uh, I guess.” The coffee was still warm from when you made it. Against the white of the mugs, it looked so dark that the story of the woman your friends would tell at sleepovers came to mind. “It just seemed like natural deaths at first. But then, it became… too natural. If you know what I mean. Like, there should be no reason for so many people, of such varying ages and health, to die without much underlying cause.”

For the FBI to get involved, there must be some foul-play speculations. But to you, it felt like something else. Pushing a mug towards him, you muttered, “It’s like a damn horror movie.”

“Sorry?”

A blush warmed your cheeks. That was not something you wanted to repeat. But, after clearing your throat, you said, “Like, like a horror movie, y’know. Like something evil, or… something.”

“Huh.” There was a flicker, for just a second, in his green eyes. He was studying you, you realised. It was too bizarre having an FBI agent – no, _two_ – in your home; a part of you wanted to confess all your crimes, like that time you didn’t stop your high school friends from vandalising a street sign, or when in college you accidentally supplied alcohol to some minors who looked much older than they actually were, or, above all else, come clean about the pirated version of _Happy Feet_ you downloaded last night while wallowing in grief.

At last, he spoke again. “Why do you say that?”

“No— no reason. Just that it’s weird.”

You hurried to the fridge and took out some milk, made sure to avoid touching his fingers when you offered it to him. _To hell with it,_ you thought. You’d already made the situation awkward, you might as well tell him why.

“There’s this dumb legend,” you explained, tapping the side of your mug without looking at him. “I used to be terrified of it as a kid. Oh, god, I couldn’t sleep for months after my friend told me about it. It started a long time ago. When this nineteenth century aristocrat was killed for being a _supposed witch_. Apparently, she came back, and she wasn’t happy with the town. After a lot of people died, the town did some rituals, and trapped her in her old mansion. No one’s supposed to disturb it. Otherwise, she’ll be set free.” You coughed, taking a sip of the bitter coffee. “ _Apparently,_ anyway.”

He was not smiling. In fact, there was a trained impassive expression on his face. The man frowned, then averted his gaze down to his coffee mug.

“Uh…” Feeling the tension thicken in the room, you desperately searched for something to change the subject. “Where’s your partner?”

“Huh?” He glanced up. “Oh, yeah. Where _did_ he go?” In a couple of gulps, he downed the coffee. “I’ll go find him. Thanks for the coffee.”

“No prob.”

* * *

 

Dean took the chance to use his EMF metre as soon as he was out of sight. “Hey, Sam,” he called out. “Sam? _Sammy_?”

The soft sputter of the EMF drowned out a faint voice from the corridor ahead. Turning it off, Dean approached, rounded the corner to find its source. The words became more and more coherent, until the source was in front of him, and Dean stopped in his tracks.

Sam, kneeling down before the front door, enthusiastically rubbed the tummy of an adorable dog. His face was alight with a beam. “Who’s a good doggy? Who’s a good doggy?”

“I’m guessing it’s not me.” Dean didn’t bother to hide his amusement. Tucking his EMF back into his suit jacket, Dean watched as Sam looked up at him, continuing to pat the Australian Shepherd.

“Dean. I was looking around. There was nothing. Except this guy!” Sam turned back to the dog. “Look at how precious he is.”

“She.” The two became alert, but when you appeared around the corner, they relaxed. “Her name’s Harriet. Or, Harry, for short.” You watched her twist and turn, flipping onto her stomach and then her back and then her stomach again, so she could lick at Sam’s hands each time. “Wow. She really likes you.”

“What can I say,” Dean teased, “he’s good with the ladies.”

Sam scoffed, but was too happy to retort. He glanced up at you with a sheepish smile as he scratched Harry behind her ears. “I’ve always wanted a dog.”

“Aww. You should get one.” You crouched down to beckon Harry over. “I’ve had Harry since I was a little girl. My parents got her for me ’cause I was scared of monsters. Specifically the one I just told you about, Agent Lee.” You kissed Harry’s nose. “Harry’s kept me safe all these years, haven’t you, Harry? You’re my guardian angel, yes you are, you are.”

Dean grimaced at the mention of angels. Only Sam noticed, raising his brows in understanding.

“We should be heading off.” Sam stood up, brushing the dog hairs from his suit. “We just came by to introduce ourselves. If there’s anything, we’ll call you. Here.” He held out a card. “If you have any information, please don’t hesitate to call. Everything’s important. Even any details you might think are weird.”

“Thanks.” You took the card and smiled up at him. _God_ , he was a giant. “Sorry I couldn’t be of more help. And hey, listen,” you let Harry out of your grasp and watched her nudge her nose into Sam’s legs, “if you’re ever free, you’re more than welcome to come hang out with Harry. She loves walks, even for her age.”

Sam grinned. “I’ll take you up on that offer. Thanks. Stay… safe.”

Again, the atmosphere had changed, heavy with unspoken words. The two agents shared a glance, before shuffling to the front door.

“I’m Dean, by the way,” said the blond one as he opened the door. “This is Sam. Don’t fret. Keep Harry close to keep you safe from the monsters. And we’ll do the rest.”


End file.
